


Here's to Many More

by wincechesters



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Anal Fingering, Bartender Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:04:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a blowout at his parents' house on Christmas Eve, Castiel resigns himself to a lonely, miserable holiday. On his way home he finds himself at a dive bar, spilling his life story to the handsome, charming bartender he's just met. It's an unlikely set of circumstances, but when the bartender invites him to come home with him, Castiel says yes—and it looks like he might not be spending his Christmas alone and miserable after all.</p>
<p>Inspired by the <a href="http://wincechesters.tumblr.com/post/92685239396/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge">30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge</a> #5- Bartender AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 24th

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2014 Destiel Advent Calendar](http://destieladventcalendar.tumblr.com)! Please have a look at all of the other awesome stories and art!
> 
> Thanks as always to [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com) for beta. Gorgeous shmoopy art is by [Ashley](http://musingsofashley.tumblr.com); please give her some love! Title is from Relient K's "Merry Christmas, Here's to Many More."

The inside of the bar is dark and dusty, lit only by dim yellow lights that cast cones of murky light over the booths along the walls. The hardwood floor under his feet is scarred with many years of wear, scratched and scuffed by heels and chair legs over time. As he stomps the snow off his shoes, his eye is drawn to the center of the room where the rectangular bar is draped with plastic garland made to look like the boughs of an evergreen. Strung along the bottom edge of the bar, Christmas lights flash sluggishly in hues of red and green, and it’s this little island of hope that Castiel makes his way towards after the door of the bar swings shut again, bell chiming softly behind him.

There are a few others in the bar: a grizzled trucker nursing a beer by himself in the corner, a pair of young women laughing noisily on the other side, a field of empty shot glasses cluttering the table between them. Castiel ignores them and the few other patrons, winding his way through the scattered tables and tall chairs to slide into a stool at the corner of the bar. He can’t see the bartender anywhere, so Castiel takes the time to unwind his scarf from around his neck and unbutton his coat, shoving the scarf into the sleeve and folding it carefully on the empty seat next to him.

He braces his hands on the bar in front of him, breathing in the old smells of cigarette smoke and spilled beer, his eyes trailing over dusty liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. The building is old and not exactly well-maintained, a dive by anyone’s standards. He still doesn’t know what made him stop, why this lonely building with its flickering sign had called out to him out of so many others he’d passed on his way home. It’s not the sort of place that he’d normally frequent but he finds it comforting in its unfamiliarity, so unlike the bright lights and new furniture and pristine rooms of his father’s house.

It’s exactly what he needs.

A tall man appears from the other side of the bar, his hands busy in front of his chest as he polishes a hi-ball glass clean. He pauses when he spots Castiel, a welcoming smile curling on full lips before he makes his way over.

“Hey, Merry Christmas,” he says over the inane chorus of “Jingle Bells” piping out of the speakers and Castiel manages to hold back his snort, but only barely. “What can I getcha?”

Castiel’s eyes flicker over the bottles lined up behind the bartender. “Something strong. Something… not festive.”

The man’s grin broadens, the lines deepening around his eyes. He sets the newly-dried hi-ball glass on the bar in front of Castiel and pulls a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black off the shelf behind him, twisting off the cap at Castiel’s approving nod. “You like it neat or on the rocks?”

“Neat,” Castiel guesses, less because he has a preference than because he wants to feel the warm burn without the coolness of ice, without water to dilute it. The bartender hums his approval and pours a finger of smooth, amber liquid into the glass, pushing it further towards Castiel with his knuckles.

The glass is warm and so is the whiskey when Castiel tips it back, a larger swallow than he perhaps should have taken, followed by another until the glass is empty. When he places the glass down on the bar, the bartender’s eyebrows are raised, an expression of mixed respect, amusement and concern on his face.

“Rough night?” the man asks mildly, tipping the bottle again to pour Castiel another glass without being asked, two fingers this time.

“Understatement,” Castiel replies, nodding his thanks as he raises the glass to his lips again. This time he takes a more appropriately-sized sip, licking his lips to chase the moisture there as he sets his glass back on the bar between his hands. When he looks back up the bartender is watching him, his eyes tracking the movement of Castiel’s tongue between his lips, down to his fingers where they toy with the tumbler in his hand.

The man shifts, tearing his eyes away to wipe absently at the bar under his hands. “I get it,” he says. “Holidays are tough. We get a lot of seasonal drinkers in here.”

Castiel frowns up at the bartender, who seems to get the message that Castiel is not interested in empty platitudes. He smiles again, this time closed-lipped, almost apologetic, and makes to turn away, when Castiel finds his mouth moving without his consent.

“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you had been born into a different family?”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it, and he regrets it almost the moment the words are out of his mouth. The man freezes, the muscles of his back and shoulders tensing under his t-shirt. He turns slowly back towards Castiel, his face frozen in an expression of shock, tension in the line of his jaw, in the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. He’s silent for a moment and Castiel is moments away from apologizing when the man slings the rag over his shoulder and reaches automatically to pull a second glass from the rack beside him.

“Dude, you have no idea,” he says grimly as he pours himself a glass of whiskey to match Castiel’s. He tips back a generous sip and leans his forearms against the bar, his eyes fixing on Castiel’s face. They are light in color—green or hazel maybe, that much is clear even in the dimly-lit bar, even in the muddled flashing of the Christmas lights—and framed by long thick lashes. “All right,” he says, waving one hand in Castiel’s direction. “Hit me.”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“Sounds like you got something you need to get off your chest, so—” the man raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Hit me.”

Castiel glances away then back, swallowing. “You don’t want to hear this.” He shakes his head. “Please, forget I said anything.”

“Hey, don’t tell me what to do.” The bartender grins, his expression softening the words. “Listening to your problems has gotta be better than moping about mine. So let’s have it.”

Castiel’s mouth twists humorlessly. He should swallow down the words rising in the back of his throat like bile, decline this strange bartender’s offer, finish his whiskey and flee back to his parents’ house with his tail between his legs. He stares at the bartender and the bartender stares back, waiting, something like a challenge in his expression. Castiel brings his glass to his lips, taking a sip while the man across from him does the same, their eyes locked together. Castiel clears his throat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I was supposed to be at my parents’ house for dinner tonight. It’s a family tradition. My brothers all came from out of town for the event.”

“Big family?”

Castiel nods. “I have three older brothers and a younger sister.” The man whistles, impressed and Castiel grimaces, nods his agreement. “They were all there, along with my eldest brother’s wife and their daughter. I have always been somewhat of a disappointment to my family, having decided to pursue a teaching degree rather than a Masters in Business like my brothers.”

“Black sheep,” the man says, grinning. “I like it. I’m guessing your parents don’t though.”

Castiel laughs humorlessly. “No.” He hesitates, but then goes on, the whiskey singing through his veins and warming him from the inside, making him brave (or perhaps foolhardy, given the type of place he is currently sitting in). “And there is also the matter of my sexuality which is more fluid than my parents would prefer.” He sets his jaw, staring determinedly back across the bar at the bartender, daring him to say something derogatory.

The man blinks, startled, his mouth opening and closing once, twice. He shuffles a hand through the short spikes of his light brown hair, blowing out a considering breath, and then he says, “Yeah. I know how that goes,” and it’s Castiel’s turn to blink in surprise.

“Anyway go on,” the man says, pulling a bowl of nuts from under the bar and taking a handful before pushing it towards Castiel.

The door of the bar chimes and Castiel turns to look over his shoulder; the truck driver from the corner is leaving. The man flicks his fingers in goodbye towards the bartender and Castiel turns back in time to see the bartender wave back. Castiel scans the bowl of nuts, picking out a cashew and popping it into his mouth.

“From the moment I walked in the door my mother had begun making underhanded comments about my job, comparing me to my much richer, much more successful siblings. Then over dinner my sister made the mistake of mentioning my last relationship, which happened to be with a man—” he cuts himself off, waving a dismissive hand. “And that was the start of a huge screaming fight which resulted in my niece crying, my sister Hael running to hide in her room, and me storming out halfway through dinner.”

“Dude,” the bartender says, voice low and hushed.

Castiel nods sharply. “Yes. Needless to say it wasn’t the best Christmas Eve in recent memory.” He rubs one hand over the back of his neck. “I like my job. I am comfortable with my orientation. I fail to see why my family cannot accept me for my choices and love me in spite of them.”

The bartender makes a discontented noise, reaching for his glass. “Man, fuck ‘em.” His face twists momentarily, his eyes distant, and Castiel knows instinctively that he’s remembering. He shakes his head and extends his glass for a toast, which Castiel returns after a moment of confusion, raising his own glass until they clink together softly. “They shouldn’t have to love you ‘in spite’ of anything. There’s nothing to be ‘in spite’ of.”

They both tip back their glasses and Castiel swallows too much, coughs. The bartender reaches, laughing, to pound him on the back, letting his big, warm palm linger on Castiel’s shoulder before he pulls it back.

“Thank you,” Castiel says, when he can breathe again.

“Dean,” the man offers, extending his hand between them. He waits patiently while Castiel considers the broad, square palm, finally reaching to shake hands with the man. His grip is firm and dry, the fingers calloused.

“Castiel,” he replies and Dean grins.

“Well, Castiel,” Dean says, “sounds like you need somethin’ to turn your night around. How do you feel about pool?”

* * *

Castiel is not drunk. He isn't. But the warm fuzzy tingle spreading through his chest and out towards his fingertips is pleasant, as is the easy atmosphere in the bar, the deep, happy sound of Dean's laugh. The last of the patrons had trickled out over the course of the last half hour, leaving Castiel and Dean alone in the bar, and he lets the warmth of the whiskey and the ease of Dean's company soothe the tension that had gathered between his shoulder blades over the course of his evening with his family. He doesn't even mind the Christmas music streaming out of the speakers anymore, even though it's still just as inane and pointless as before, and he likes it even better when Dean starts to sing along, no doubt bolstered by his own second glass of whiskey, the last sips slipping around the inside of the glass as it dangles from his fingers.

"But baby it's bad, out there," he sings, leaning in to sing close to Castiel's ear as Castiel lines up his shot, Dean’s breath tickling at the hairs on the back of Castiel's neck and sending a shiver of sensation rippling down his spine. Castiel shoots, and the ball he'd been aiming at just misses the pocket. He turns to glare at his companion who smirks unashamedly and moves to line up his own next shot.

"You know this song isn't as romantic as it seems," Castiel retorts.

Dean's brow furrows and he straightens over the table. "What? What do you mean?"

Castiel, glancing upwards as he clasps his hands around his cue. "The man in the song is trying to coerce the woman into staying, presumably for a sexual encounter, in spite of the woman's continued protests. He’s very adamant. Not to mention the line 'what's in my drink', which implies he's spiked her drink without her permission."

Dean gapes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as the song plays on, unaccompanied, in the background. "Well geez, Cas," he says. "Thanks for ruining a classic for me."

Castiel shrugs. "I'm sorry to disillusion you."

"Well we can't listen to this shit now," Dean says, leaning his pool cue on the table and disappearing through the swinging doors into the kitchen without another word. Castiel blinks after him, confused, and hears the music switch off, replaced by the somewhat familiar electric guitar of AC/DC's "Thunderstruck". Dean turns it up a few notches and comes skidding back out from behind the doors, a wide grin splitting his face.

"Really?" Castiel asks, deadpan, and Dean waggles his eyebrows.

"Well, you were being a Grinch about it anyway; figured I should switch off the holiday tunes before you steal the rest of Christmas." He nudges Castiel with his elbow on the way past and repositions himself over the table, leaning down and stretching out to make his shot. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he concentrates, his shirts riding up over the waistband of his jeans and the black apron tied around his hips to expose a sliver of back and hip. He uses a closed bridge, sliding the pool cue through the circle of his finger, the muscles of his back standing out under his t-shirt as he stretches. Castiel stares, his mouth and throat suddenly dry and he swallows with effort.

Dean takes his shot, the cue ball making contact with the solid blue two-ball with a _crack_. The ball drops smoothly into the pocket Dean was aiming for and Dean straightens with a grin.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, thunderstruck!" he half-sings, half-yells along with the song, miming over his cue like the strings of a guitar and Castiel can't help his huff of laughter which only makes Dean smile wider.

He's beautiful, even in the dirty light of the lamps dangling over the table, the sickly red and green flashing of the Christmas lights festooned haphazardly around the place. He’s beautiful and charming and full of life, and it makes no sense why he would be here alone on a holiday when by all rights he should be curling up with a partner just as beautiful as he, or maybe even a family.

"Why are you here?" Castiel blurts out as Dean lines up his next shot. The bartender pauses, raising his eyebrows over the cue and the stretch of green between them. "I mean," Castiel hastens to clarify, "why are you here in this bar on Christmas Eve?"

Dean's shoulders stiffen under his t-shirt and he shrugs, his gaze returning to the cue. "Someone's gotta work Christmas Eve, Cas." He licks his lips, concentrating on the ball, and Castiel follows the motion hungrily. Dean makes the shot, curses when the ball misses the pocket slightly and ricochets back to the other side of the table. "Ellen—she's the lady who own's the place—she and her daughter Jo are hanging out tonight, some family tradition or something, so they're both out. My brother's busy with his girlfriend tonight, spending a cozy night in or something sappy like that, probably feeding each other fuckin' fruitcake with their fingers. Tracy's gone home for the holidays and even Ash has something going on tonight." He smiles but this time it's empty, lacking the earlier warmth. "Someone's gotta do it and I didn't have anywhere better to be, so I volunteered."

_He's lonely_ , Castiel realizes with a shock—this beautiful, charismatic man is lonely on Christmas Eve, just like he is.

"I'm glad it was you," he blurts, and wishes instantly to take it back when Dean looks up, startled, blinking wide eyes as he stares at Castiel across the table. Something passes over Dean’s face, something open and vulnerable but he recovers quickly, plastering on a salacious grin.

"Well yeah, otherwise you'd be drinking alone," he says with a wink, and raises his glass in salute.

Castiel lifts his own glass, inclining his head in silent agreement and takes a long sip of whiskey, letting the burn of it distract him from his thoughts.

They finish their game, Dean teasing Castiel the entire time, singing along through it all. Halfway through, Dean looks up at the clock ticking sluggishly away on the wall opposite them and realizes that it’s been Christmas for two hours, and disappears into the kitchen. He procures a dilapidated Santa hat from somewhere and tugs it down over Castiel's head, ignoring his protesting scowl, positioning a pair of reindeer antlers amongst the spikes of his own hair. He laughs at the face Castiel makes and bumps his shoulder against Castiel's, and Castiel forgets to protest. Dean wins the game when there are still three of Castiel's stripes on the table but Castiel can't even begin to care, too amused with Dean's exaggerated celebration at his win.

Dean makes his way back to the bar, coming up with a coke for himself and a beer for Castiel. "Gotta drive home tonight, Cas, and I can't be drinking too much on the job." He clinks the can of his soda dully with Castiel's beer bottle and tips it back, and Castiel watches his throat work as he swallows.

"Hey look," Dean says suddenly, jerking his head up towards the ceiling and bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. "Mistletoe."

Castiel follows Dean's glance, looking up to see that they are indeed standing beneath a sprig of what looks like plastic mistletoe taped to the lampshade above them. He looks back down to find Dean smirking at him teasingly. He’s clearly joking; he doesn’t actually think that Castiel will kiss him, but Castiel can’t help the way his eyes drop to Dean’s mouth, tracing the full curve of his bottom lip and the perfect bow of the top one. He drags his gaze back to Dean’s eyes and sees them darken perceptibly, and Dean’s tongue slips out to moisten his bottom lip, the atmosphere between them changing into something else, something heady and hot and needy.

For once, Castiel doesn’t let himself think. Instead, he leans in and kisses Dean.

Dean makes a muffled sound of surprise against Castiel's lips but then he's kissing back, leaning into the press of Castiel's mouth. It's soft at first, a chaste press of lips, but then Dean steps in closer, letting their chests brush together, and he parts his lips for Castiel's tongue with a sigh. Castiel's free hand comes up to curl around the back of Dean's neck, tugging him in closer and firmer, and Dean's slips around to curl around Castiel's hip. The kiss tastes like whiskey, smoky and heady and warm, and Dean groans into Castiel's mouth.

He pulls back abruptly, tugging the beer bottle out of Castiel's hand and setting it on the nearest table and then he's back, cupping Castiel's face between his broad palms and pushing in tight. Castiel's hands slip around Dean's waist, sliding under his shirts to skim up the curve of his back, fingers trailing over the taut lines of muscle on either side of his spine as Dean licks back into Castiel's mouth. Castiel sucks on Dean's tongue and Dean groans, the sound sending heat rushing down to pool in Castiel's groin, his cock growing hard and heavy between his legs. Dean backs him into the pool table, pinning him there with his hips, and Castiel pulls him in tighter, nipping at his bottom lip as Dean tugs off Castiel's Santa hat and fists a hand tight in his hair.

All too soon, Dean gentles the kiss, sucking short, gentle kisses to Castiel's lower lip before pulling back. Castiel loosens his grip around Dean's waist, prepared to let him go, but Dean stays close, their hips pressed together as he leans back just far enough that he can look down into Castiel's face.

"Shit, Cas," he says, letting the fingertips of one hand trail down Castiel's chest, the other carding gently through the hair at the back of Castiel's skull. "This might be a little forward but you kissed me first, so what the hell—you want to come back to my place?"

"Yes," Castiel says instantly, and he leans in to press a kiss under the angle of Dean's jaw, feeling him swallow against his lips.

"Okay," Dean says, and Castiel smiles to hear his voice come out a little shaky. "But I gotta shut this place down first before we do anything, so I'm gonna need you to quit doing that for a sec."

Castiel pulls back from kissing down Dean’s throat, his lips quirking up into a smirk. Dean groans and kisses him again on the lips before pulling away.

"C'mon, Casanova," Dean says, fitting his fingers around Castiel's wrist and tugging him upright, "help me shut this place down so we can get back to my place and get naked."

Castiel picks up chairs, turning them upside down on the tables so that Dean can sweep around them. He wipes down the bar while Dean counts cash, smiling fondly as Dean nods his head unconsciously to the beat of the classic rock music still blaring through the speakers, the reindeer antlers still sitting—now slightly askew—on his head. Finally, Dean deposits the cash in the safe in the office, switching off the music on his way back through and pulling on a scuffed leather jacket.

"Ready?" he asks as he reaches behind the bar to shut off the Christmas lights.

Castiel grins. "Are you?" He looks pointedly up at Dean's head where the antlers are still perched, jingling merrily with Dean’s every movement. Dean scowls and yanks them off, tossing them down on the bar to be dealt with later.

"Yeah okay, laugh it up," he grumbles, a flush rising in his cheeks and Castiel huffs a laugh.

"You shouldn't drive," Dean says, his voice low, "you can drive over with me. Then I can drop you off here tomorrow or you can get a cab back or whatever."

"Is my car going to be okay here for now?"

Dean scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "No problem. I've left my baby here a few times myself and she's never gotten a scratch."

Castiel follows Dean out the door, pausing as he shuts off the lights and locks the door behind him. Dean leads him to a long, sleek black car, the parts not covered by a thin layer of fluffy snow shining under the light of the nearby streetlamp.

"This is an old car," Castiel notes once they're both inside, the windows brushed off and the heater running full blast. Dean blows into his cupped hands to warm them, then reaches to put the car in drive.

"Yeah, '67. It was my dad's before he. You know." He grimaces, reaching to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. "She's been through her share but I keep her purring like a kitten."

Castiel runs his fingers over the leather seat between them. "It's very nice," he comments. "You've done a good job." Dean grunts in acknowledgement, reaching to flick on the radio, and Castiel stifles a smile when more classic rock fills the inside of the car. He keeps his hands to himself, folded loosely in his lap, watching the snowy town of Sioux Falls drift by as Dean drives.

Finally, Dean makes a last turn and parks in the lot of a squat apartment building. It's a bit run down, and Dean looks embarrassed as he unlocks the outer door and leads Castiel up the raggedly carpeted stairs to the third floor where he stops outside of the door marked 308.

Inside the apartment, Castiel is surprised to find that while the floors and carpets are old and dated, they are immaculately clean. The appliances too are dingy with age but sparkling clean, and everything is tucked neatly in its place, aside from a tattered copy of _Cat's Cradle_ resting on the arm of the an older brown couch and a couple of DVDs left in a pile on the floor in front of the modest entertainment unit. There's a little artificial Christmas tree in the corner, one of those small four-foot ones, and it's draped in ornaments with a small collection of wrapped presents underneath.

When he turns around he finds Dean watching him. "What?" Dean asks, when he sees his smile.

"You have a nice home," Castiel says, looking around.

Dean shrugs. "It's not much, but I get by."

Castiel nods his agreement. "I can't afford much more on my salary," he says. "My parents offered to buy me a house, but I didn't want their help, particularly when the help came with... conditions."

“Hey, I get that. I wouldn’t want it with strings attached either.” Dean nods appreciatively. "So uh. Can I get you a beer or something? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be nice," Castiel agrees, following Dean into the kitchen.

The coffee is good, rich and dark and warm after the chilly drive to Dean's apartment. Castiel sits beside Dean on his worn couch, their thighs brushing as they sip at the hot liquid. Dean is warm against his side and Castiel is hyper aware of him, the tight curl of interest low in his belly stirring every time Dean's shifting causes his arm to brush against Castiel's.

"So what are going to do tomorrow?" Dean asks. "I guess you're not gonna want to go back to your parents' house for Christmas dinner."

Castiel frowns. "I'm not sure. I'll be expected, but I'm not inclined to spend any more time with them any time soon." His jaw tenses as he stares down at the coffee mug clasped between his hands. He doesn't want to think about his family or what he will do tomorrow so he changes the subject. "Do you have Christmas plans?"

Dean nods. "Yup. Ellen goes all-out on Christmas. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, the whole nine." He looks up at Castiel and grins. "Pie."

"And your brother? Will he be there?" Dean had implied that his father had passed away, and he wants to ask about Dean's mother, but decides against it.

"Yeah, and his girlfriend. And Bobby—he's kinda like my surrogate dad—and Ellen's daughter Jo and her sorta adopted-brother Ash, plus Jo’s girlfriend. It's a big party. We usually all drink too much eggnog and eat so much we can't move and wind up crashing all over Bobby's house.”

Castiel smiles wistfully. "It sounds very nice."

Dean's lips curl into an answering smile. "Yeah. Hey, we don't have to talk about Christmas. Don't wanna, like. Rub it in." He hesitates for a moment and then smooths his palm down Castiel's thigh, the touch sparking warmth in Castiel's belly. "I know what it's like to have shitty Christmases too. Before I got lucky with all this extended family, we spent most of our Christmases on the road, just me and my dad and my brother, after mom died. It sucked."

Castiel nods, looking down at Dean's hand, warm and heavy where it splays across his thigh, and back up at Dean. There is a spray of freckles scattered across Dean's cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and far from lessening his appeal, they actually make him more attractive. Dean is watching his face, and as Castiel stares back at him, his eyes—which are green, Castiel notes—darken visibly. He licks his lips, and then tension between them ratchets up until Castiel leans in a few inches, closing the gap between them. Dean leans in to meet him, their lips brushing softly and then hungrily when Castiel parts his lips. He's very aware of Dean's hand on his leg, even more so when Dean slips it up a few inches, his little finger sliding dangerously, tantalizingly close to the crease of Castiel's thigh.

For the second time that evening Dean pulls away to take Castiel's drink from his hand and set it on the side table behind him. When he returns, he grins, reaching to tug at Castiel's hip until Castiel swings his leg over Dean's lap to straddle him. Dean's hands trace warm paths up Castiel's thighs, over the cut of his hips and the curve of his ribs and up to his neck, pulling him down into a searing kiss. Castiel groans and opens for Dean's tongue, meeting it with his own and swiping over the full soft flesh of Dean's bottom lip. He rocks his hips into Dean's, gasping into Dean's mouth when he feels his growing erection brush against the hard line of Dean's own. He braces his hands on the back of the couch and grinds down, swallowing the sound Dean makes and repeating the motion just to hear it again.

"Fuck, Cas, that’s good," Dean says, his hips jerking up to meet the roll of Castiel's. Castiel hums his agreement, turning his head to kiss down the line of Dean's jaw and suck gently at his throat.

"Whoa, take it easy there," Dean manages to choke out, the arch of his neck as his head falls back against the back of the couch belying his words, "I gotta see my family tomorrow, man."

"No marks, then," Castiel says, easing up to nibble at his ear instead.

Dean gasps, his hands tightening in Castiel's hair. "I didn't say _no_ marks. You can mark me, just not where anyone can see."

"Okay." Castiel reaches for the hem of Dean's shirt and Dean arches off the back of the couch to let him pull it over his head and toss it to the side. Castiel lets his eyes rake over Dean's body, trailing his hands down over Dean's broad, muscled shoulders to the tight chest and the slight softness over the waistband of his jeans. There are freckles over his shoulders and chest too, and he has a tattoo on his left pectoral, a pentagram encircled by fire. He's beautiful, skin golden and lovely in the soft light of the lamp at the side of the couch, and Castiel drops his mouth to suck biting kisses from his shoulder across the line of his collarbone to tongue at the hollow of his throat.

"Cas," Dean groans, and Castiel looks up, meeting his lust-darkened eyes. Dean surges up into a kiss, capturing Castiel's mouth again and his hands slip down out of Castiel's hair to tug him in close, squeezing his ass and pulling until their hips are crushed together, the hard lines of their erections rocking together through Castiel's dress pants and the denim of Dean's jeans.

"Dean," Castiel manages between kisses, unable to stop the motion of his hips. He curls one hand around the back of Dean's head, his fingers tightening in Dean's hair, making the man beneath him groan sinfully. "Dean—"

"Yeah Cas?" Dean says, his voice low and hungry, slipping his tongue along Castiel's lower lip.

"Where's your bedroom?" Castiel asks and Dean stops kissing Castiel to grin up at him.

Castiel slips off Dean's lap, pausing to adjust himself in his pants and then follows a still-shirtless Dean around the corner to a short hallway and then into his bedroom. His bed is immaculately made, the room neat and tidy like the rest of the house with only a pile of old paperbacks and an empty beer bottle beside the bed to disrupt it. There's a framed photograph on the table beside the bed of a blonde woman with a warm smile on full lips—Dean's lips.

He doesn't get much time to inspect the picture of the woman who must be Dean’s mother or to look around the rest of the room because Dean backs him into the wall beside the door, pinning him there with his hips to kiss him hard. Castiel squeezes his hands between them to undo his tie and work the buttons of his shirt while Dean hurries to help, starting at the bottom until they meet in the middle. The tie slips from Castiel’s fingers to flutter to the ground in a coil of red silk. Dean pushes the shirt over Castiel's shoulders and tugs it off his arms and then his hands are back, slipping up Castiel's sides to thumb at his nipples and then up to his neck again.

Castiel growls and pushes away from the wall, backing Dean towards the bed and pushing him down onto it. Dean laughs, reaching for his own belt buckle and flicking it open, as Castiel unzips his own pants, shoving them down around his ankles and stepping out of them.  Dean's eyes stay fixed to Castiel's as he undoes his jeans, working them slowly down his hips and Castiel swallows, his cock twitching inside his boxer briefs, and steps forward to help. He drags Dean’s jeans down his thighs and off his legs, hooking a finger in first one sock, then the other. He climbs up on the bed, working his way up to settle over Dean’s thighs and stops when his eyes fall on Dean’s boxers, tented with his arousal, and he snorts out a surprised laugh: Dean’s boxers are dark green and adorned with images of brightly colored Christmas-tree ornaments, the words “Nice Balls” spelled out underneath the waistband.

“Hey! That’s not exactly great for the ego, you know,” Dean protests, but he’s grinning too.

Castiel huffs another laugh and bends to press a kiss to Dean’s stomach under his belly button and over his boxers, relishing the fine tremble of the muscles under his lips as he does. Dean’s breath catches and he reaches to comb his fingers through Castiel’s hair. He lets it go on for a few minutes, Castiel’s fingers slipping teasingly under the waistband of Dean’s boxers as he kisses along the sensitive flesh, and then Dean tugs gently on his hair.

“Get up here,” he says, his voice low and rough and Castiel obliges, crawling up Dean’s body and settling in over him and capturing his lips in a kiss. Dean coils his arms tight around him, pulling him in close to kiss him thoroughly and Castiel presses Dean into the mattress, kissing back hard and rocking their hips together.

Dean growls low in his throat and rolls them over until he’s hovering over Castiel. He grins salaciously and slips down Castiel’s body, dropping kisses on his torso on the way down, curling his fingers in the waistband of Castiel’s boxers. Castiel lifts his hips to let Dean pull his boxers off and away, his cock bobbing against his stomach once it’s freed.

Dean fumbles in the nightstand and produces a condom, rolling it down slowly over Castiel’s erection by touch, his eyes trained on Castiel’s. He pumps his fist a few times and positions Castiel’s cock with his hand curled around the base, then parts his lips over the head, sliding down to meet his fist. Castiel groans as Dean sucks him down, the warm heat of his mouth and throat combining with the sinful picture of Dean’s full lips parted around his cock to send him dangerously close to orgasm far too quickly. He places one hand on the back of Dean’s head, slipping his fingers into Dean’s hair, and Dean hums his approval, the vibration making Castiel gasp, his hips jerking at the sensation. Dean presses his hips down into the mattress and Castiel fights the jerk of his hips as Dean works his mouth up and down Castiel’s shaft, pulling off to kiss down the length and lick at his balls, returning to suckle at the head before moving his hand and swallowing him all the way down.

“Dean— _fuck_ _—_ ” Castiel chokes out, his hand closing tighter in Dean’s hair, the other fisted tight in the sheets beside his hip and he drops his head back, biting his lip hard to hold back against the curling heat tightening his balls and pooling at the base of his spine. When he looks back down at Dean, Dean’s eyes are hooded and dark, creased in a devious smile as he bobs his head up and down Castiel’s cock. He slips his free hand down, caressing Castiel’s balls on the way by and nudges gently at the space behind, his fingers trailing lower to skim over Castiel’s hole. He looks up again and his eyes turn questioning and Castiel nods hurriedly.

“Do it,” he grunts, and Dean pulls off his erection long enough to smirk and suck his own finger into his mouth to get it wet, and then he’s back, mouth sliding down Castiel’s erection while his finger slips past Castiel’s rim.

Castiel groans, fighting the urge to buck his hips as Dean fingers him, his lips tight around Castiel’s cock as he sucks. He has to close his eyes, his hips rocking back against Dean’s finger and Dean’s mouth sliding up and down his length, and when Dean works a second finger into him and starts rubbing his prostate, pulling back to suck hard on the head, Castiel comes. Dean works him through his orgasm with his mouth and hands, and he doesn’t stop the motion of his fingers until Castiel slumps, gasping back on the bed.

“Good?” Dean asks when he finally pulls off, his voice raw and rough, and Castiel manages a fervent nod.

“So good, Dean,” Castiel says between shaky breaths and Dean chuckles, ducking his head to press a soft kiss to Castiel’s hip bone. He eases the condom off of Castiel’s softening dick and ties it off, tossing it into the nearby trashcan.

“Awesome.” He straightens up, kneeling over Castiel and reaches under the waistband of his boxers to pull out his cock, hard and leaking and dark with his arousal. He starts to stroke but Castiel shakes his head, reaching to grasp Dean’s hip; while the sight of Dean jerking off over him is gorgeous, breathtaking, that’s not what he wants right now.

Dean reluctantly stops the motion of his hand, and he groans when Castiel shuffles, turning over on his stomach and canting his hips up in invitation. He trails his free hand down from Castiel’s shoulder down the curve of his back to cup his ass, his thumb flirting with the crease and Castiel pushes upward into his hand.

“Cas—” Dean chokes out. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re hot, you know that?”

Castiel turns to look over his shoulder. “Dean, please,” he says and Dean’s eyes flutter shut, his hand squeezing tight around the base of his cock.

He fumbles in the nightstand again, coming up with a bottle of lube and a condom. He slicks his fingers and slips them back inside Castiel, and Castiel sighs happily as Dean fills him, pushing back against them. Dean works him open slowly and with a gentleness Castiel hadn’t expected and then he sits back to shuck his boxers and rolls the condom over his erection, slicking himself up with more lube and guiding his cock to Castiel’s entrance. Castiel is loose and open from his orgasm and Dean’s careful preparations and Dean eases slowly inside, the blunt press of Dean’s cock filling him inch by inch until he’s fully seated, hips pressed tight against Castiel’s ass. Dean breathes raggedly, pressing shaky kisses to Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel hums happily at the warm weight of Dean covering him from shoulder to ankle, the thickness of Dean’s cock filling him up.

“You okay?” Dean asks shakily, his lips moving against the back of Castiel’s neck and Castiel turns his head, stretching awkwardly to kiss Dean over his shoulder.

“Yes,” Castiel promises. “Better than okay.” He rocks his hips back, taking Dean in deeper, swallowing Dean’s gasp. Dean kisses down the bolt of his jaw, nuzzling into his hair as he settles down on his elbows, big hands sliding up on either side of Castiel’s arms.

Dean moves slowly at first in gentle rolls of his hips, his harsh breath tickling the hair at the back of Castiel’s neck. It’s been a while since Castiel has had anyone inside him and it feels so good, Dean’s cock working slowly in and out of him, the drag just right, tagging against his prostate. He fumbles for Dean’s hands, lacing their fingers together and for a moment Dean goes still above him and he wonders if he’s done something wrong, but then Dean groans, dropping a kiss to the back of his neck and fucking in harder on his next thrust.

“Cas,” he breathes, “Cas, _fuck,_ you feel amazing.”

Castiel hums, rolling his hips up to meet Dean’s thrusts, and his spent cock twitches beneath him as the head of Dean’s dick nails his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure rippling through him. Dean’s breath washes warm and ragged over the back of his neck, his mouth hot and wet against Castiel’s skin.

The motion of Dean’s hips stutters, his thrusts growing erratic. “Not gonna last,” he pants, his hips speeding up, “gonna come,” and Castiel pushes up to take it, groaning into the mattress.

“ _Yes,_ Dean, I want you to come inside me,” he gasps out, “ _please_ ,” and that’s it. Dean chokes out a startled gasp, pressing his forehead to the space between Castiel’s shoulders and he comes, his fingers tightening where they’re laced between Castiel’s, thrusting in one last time before he slumps, warm and heavy and spent over Castiel’s body.

He lays there for a minute, catching his breath and Castiel waits, presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s hand. Finally Dean levers himself up with a groan, slipping out of Castiel’s body and stands to clean himself up and dispose of the used condom. Castiel worms his way under the blankets, hoping he’s not going to be asked to leave, and he’s rewarded when Dean pads back into the bedroom, naked and glorious, shutting off the light on his way by and easing his way under the covers with Castiel, curling in close.

“Stay,” Dean says gruffly once he’s wrapped in tight around Castiel’s sex-warm body and Castiel smiles.

“All right,” he replies. Their lips find each other in the dark and they exchange soft kisses before parting slightly, their legs still tangled together and Dean’s head tucked into the curve of Castiel’s neck.

“Dean?” Castiel asks after a few moments of quiet and Dean shifts back to look up at him, just visible in the near dark of the room.

“Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Dean snorts, but Castiel feels his smile when he leans back in to kiss Castiel’s collarbone.

“Merry Christmas, Cas. Now get some sleep, jackass. I want a round two in the morning.”

Castiel huffs a laugh, and closes his eyes.


	2. Christmas Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com) for beta. The lovely art in this chapter is once again by [Ashley](http://musingsofashley.tumblr.com). Such a pleasure working with you again, my dear.
> 
> This is shameless fluff and I apologize for nothing. Enjoy!

Castiel wakes alone, facedown in a strange bed, a pleasant ache in his ass and the smell of frying bacon wafting through the open door. He stretches his arms over his head, letting himself feel the pull of tight muscles that had gotten an unexpected workout last night and thinks about burrowing down into the warmth of the bed for a few more minutes, or perhaps seeking out Dean for the round two he’d requested last night. But then he catches a bleary glimpse of the clock on the nightstand, the red numbers illuminated to show 11:44 am, and he curses, throwing himself out of the nest of blankets and scrambling around the room to collect his clothes.

He stumbles out to the kitchen, still buttoning his shirt, and stops dead in the doorway when he catches sight of Dean, wearing nothing but thick socks on his feet, a pair of boxer shorts screen-printed to look like a wrapped Christmas present with the bow sitting squarely over his ass, and what looks like a red apron tied around his front, presumably to protect against splatters from the bacon he’s frying. He has his back to the doorway and Castiel takes a moment to admire the muscular curve of his back, the play of the muscles in his shoulders as he flips the bacon.

“Um.” Castiel scrambles for an acceptable post-one-night-stand greeting. “Good morning, Dean.”

Dean looks over his shoulder at the sound of his voice, already grinning. “Hey Cas. Merry Christmas, for real this time.” His eyes flick down Castiel’s body, his lips pursing into a pout. “What the hell are you doing dressed, man? That’s a let down.”

Castiel frowns, confused. “I thought I might have overstayed my welcome. It’s nearly noon, Dean.”

“Nah, you’re okay. Stay for breakfast? I made lots.”

Castiel hesitates, but then Dean turns around, the frying pan of bacon in his hand and Castiel snorts a surprised laugh. The apron Dean is wearing looks like a Santa Claus outfit, complete with black buttons and fake-fur trim. Dean grins at Castiel’s obvious amusement, bouncing his eyebrows as he deals out the bacon onto two plates he’s already set at the table.

“You staying, or what?” Dean asks, replacing the frying pan on the stove and pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge.

“I’ll stay,” Castiel says and Dean flicks a grin over his shoulder as Castiel moves past the threshold into the kitchen. “Is there coffee?” he asks hopefully.

Dean jerks his head upward and to the right, indicating the coffee maker sitting on the counter nearby. “Mugs up above the machine.”

Castiel helps himself to coffee, pouring a mug for Dean as well and setting it at his place at the table. Dean uses the bacon grease to fry up some eggs and then they sit down at the table together after Dean shucks the apron and tosses it over the back of one of the empty chairs.

In the light of day, Castiel feels a little awkward and unsure of himself after last night. He’s hardly an expert in the area of morning-afters; he can count on one hand the number of one night stands he’s had and still have a few fingers to spare. He likes Dean very much and he doesn’t regret their night together, but he’s unsure what the correct procedure is for having a startlingly domestic Christmas morning breakfast with a man you had met barely more than twelve hours before, who has been inside you, has made you moan and cry out and come.

The food is delicious, and Castiel isn’t sure why he’s surprised by the revelation that Dean is a good cook. He eats ravenously, pausing to take sips of coffee in between bites of bacon and forkfuls of eggs, only slowing when Dean smirks across the table at him and points out that it’s not going to run away. He has a second helping of eggs at Dean’s insistence, and together the two of them polish off all the food Dean had prepared.

Dean gets up to deposit the plates in the sink and comes back with the coffee pot, pouring Castiel a second cup before slipping back down into his seat. He slumps down, relaxed, with one arm splayed across the back of the chair next to his. “So, what time does that shindig start up at your parents’ place, if you do decide to show up?”

Castiel grimaces, glancing at the clock on the back of the stove reflexively. “They’ll be expecting me at two.”

“You decided what you’re going to do yet?”

“No.” Quite frankly, he’d rather be anywhere but back at his parents’ house with his bigoted, judgemental family, though the idea of sitting alone at home by himself on a day that should be spent with loved ones seems almost as bad. Castiel raises his coffee mug to his lips, taking a long, fortifying sip and tries not to think of how hollow he feels just remembering the words that had been hurled at him yesterday.

“Well,” Dean says, mercifully pulling Castiel out of his thoughts, “you need a shower no matter what, right?” Castiel frowns in confusion and watches as a smirk curls Dean’s full lips. Dean shifts in his chair and Castiel feels Dean’s foot hook around his ankle, toes dipping under the hem of his pant leg to slide against his calf in an unmistakable invitation, and Castiel’s eyes track the movement of Dean’s tongue as it slips out to wet his lips.

Castiel swallows hard.

He finds himself being dragged to the bathroom, Dean’s mouth on his as they kiss their way back down the hallway. They make it halfway to the bathroom door before Dean is shoving him up against the wall to work the buttons of his shirt while Castiel hurriedly unzips his pants, moaning as Dean ruts his erection up against Castiel’s thigh. His clothes wind up in a pile in the middle of the hallway, his underwear joining Dean’s on the bathroom floor as the man tugs him over the side of the bathtub, pulling the curtain closed behind them. Hot water beats down around his shoulders as Dean thrusts against him, kissing up the line of his neck as they stand under the stream. Castiel tilts his head back to expose his throat, fingers clutching at Dean’s naked, wet shoulders and fisting in the short strands of his hair, rocking his hips to drag his erection against the spur of Dean’s hip.

Dean pulls back suddenly, grinning at the confused whine that escapes Castiel’s throat and leaning back in to kiss him with surprising tenderness before he reaches for the body wash balanced on one of the ledges. He pours some into the cupped palm of his hand, working it to a lather and then he’s reaching between their bodies to fist them both together.

Castiel gasps at the slick slide of Dean’s hand, the hard press of Dean’s erection up against his. He clings to Dean’s shoulders and thrusts up into Dean’s grip in a counterpoint to the movement of his fist. Dean’s mouth falls open on the juncture of Castiel’s neck and shoulder and Castiel moves one of his hands to cup the back of Dean’s head, holding him there, close and warm. Dean twists his hand, sucking hard at the curve of Castiel’s neck and Castiel gasps, kissing open-mouthed along the tight line of muscle stretching from Dean’s neck to his shoulder.

“So good, Cas,” Dean whimpers, and Castiel shudders at the sound of his name falling from Dean’s lips.

“Dean,” he groans out, _“yes,”_ and drops his hand to join Dean’s, squeezing and working their cocks together. He yanks Dean’s head back by the hair and Dean moans, and when Castiel tilts his head to fit their lips together, Dean gasps into his mouth and comes over both their fists. Dean only pauses the motion of his hand for a moment, catching his breath and then he kisses back, working Castiel’s cock until he comes too.

They stand there trembling under the stream of the shower for a moment, clinging to each other and kissing sporadically. It’s nice, the heat and the pressure of the water easing the tightness of Castiel’s muscles, Dean’s body warm and solid against his. Eventually Castiel picks up the body wash again, pouring some into his own hands and lathering it up.

Dean draws back, tensing under Castiel’s hands as he starts to spread the suds over Dean’s shoulders. “Whoa, what are you doing?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I’m washing you. Is there something wrong?”

“No—I mean,” Dean drags a hand through his wet hair, wiping water from his eyes. “You don’t have to do that, man.”

“Why not?”

“We barely know each other. It’s not exactly part of the deal.”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow. “This is more intimate than what we just did?”

Dean grumbles but submits to letting Castiel lather him up, even pressing into the touch of Castiel’s fingers as he works the tense muscles of his shoulders and back. After a few minutes he even returns the favor, spreading soap over Castiel’s body tentatively at first, but with growing enthusiasm as his fingers drag greedily over Castiel’s skin. When they tumble out a few minutes later and towel themselves dry, both of them are loose and contented from their orgams and the heat of the shower, and Dean yawns, stretching his arms over his head.

“Damn, I wish I could take a nap. But I got places to be.” He drops his arms, studying Castiel as he ruffles the towel over his hair. “You decide what you’re doing?”

Castiel sighs, wrapping the towel around his waist. “I don’t want to go,” he says, sure at least of that. “But I feel… obligated. And the other option is to spend the holiday alone and I don’t much want to do that either. It’s not as though I have anywhere else to go.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, considering, his hands loose at his side. Finally he seems to come to some decision, and he licks his lips nervously before speaking. “You could, uh. Come with me to mine.”

Castiel blinks, not sure he heard correctly. “What?”

“Yeah, I mean Ellen always makes too much food anyway. I’m sure it beats hanging out with your dickbag family.”

That is undoubtedly true. Castiel watches Dean, how he flushes under his freckles and shifts his weight nervously, raising his eyebrows under the scrutiny in some kind of attempt at bravado. He’s not sure what to make of this unexpected turn of events, of being invited to Christmas dinner with Dean’s family when only minutes ago, Dean had been protesting Castiel’s attempts to wash his body as too personal.

“You’re very strange,” Castiel says finally, frowning.

Dean scoffs. “ _I’m_ strange?” He shakes his head disbelievingly. “Look, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I just figure no one should be alone at Christmas and you shouldn’t have to spend it with a bunch of dicks who judge you just for being you.” He shrugs, plastering on a crooked smirk. “And I wouldn’t mind having you to look at all evening. You’re kinda smokin’ hot.”

Castiel huffs a laugh. It’s a strange proposition to be sure, and Castiel isn’t sure if it’s a good idea, but he likes Dean, and the idea of spending Christmas with him and his family—even if they are strangers—seems infinitely more appealing than spending it with his own.

“All right,” he says finally and Dean’s smile broadens, warmth stretching to his eyes.

“C’mon then,” Dean says, “we gotta find you an ugly sweater.”

* * *

If someone had told Castiel that he would be getting out of a 1967 Chevy Impala (as he had been informed on the way over is the year, make and model of Dean's shiny black car) at a stranger's home on Christmas Day, clothed in a sweater depicting a host of snowmen in various compromising poses, lent to him by his one night stand, he would have never believed it. Yet here he is, following Dean past the lines of broken-down cars in the yard, up the steps of a strange house, snow crunching underneath his boots. There is a Christmas wreath on the door, the only concession to the holiday that Castiel can see.

Dean lets himself into the house without knocking, ushering Castiel in after him and bellowing as he does so, "Honey, I'm home!"

"Shut the door y'idjit, you're letting all the warm air out!" is the gruffly shouted reply and Castiel blinks in the direction of the sound.

Dean grins, shutting the door behind Castiel. "You get used to him," he says as if that explains the greeting and shucks his leather jacket, shoving his gloves down into the pockets and kicking off his boots. Dean himself is wearing another hideous sweater, his red with the greeting "MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMAL" knitted on the front in bold, white letters.

Dean takes Castiel's coat and hangs it with his on the bannister leading up the stairs, just as a tall, broad-shouldered man comes skidding around the corner in socked feet. He's wearing an ugly Christmas sweater as well, his a hideous off-white cardigan with Christmas trees knitted on it, buttoned over a neat dress-shirt. He has long hair falling to his cheekbones and a youthful face, and when he smiles, dimples appear in his cheeks. He steps forward to throw his arms around Dean.

"You made it," the man says, grinning, “we were starting to think you got lost.”

Dean coils his arms around the man's broad shoulders to hug him back, thumping him hard on the back before drawing back. "Hey Sammy. Is Jess here?"

"Of course. She's keeping Bobby company." The tall man glances over Dean's shoulder at Cas, cocking his head to the side in genial confusion. "You didn't say you were bringing someone."

"Sam, this is Cas," Dean says, indicating Castiel with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. "Cas, this is my little brother Sam."

Castiel's eyebrows shoot up at Dean’s use of the word “little”, and Sam chuckles, extending his hand to be shaken. “He means younger; I haven’t been shorter than him since I hit puberty. Nice to meet you.”

Castiel eyes Sam’s hand for a moment, big like the rest of him and long-fingered, before reaching out and clasping it with his own. “It’s good to meet you as well.”

Sam turns to Dean. "You didn't even tell me you were dating someone," he says accusingly.

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, to explain that they only met last night but Dean cuts him off, slinging an arm around Castiel's neck and dragging him into his side. "That's 'cause you can't keep your big mouth shut and I didn't want the whole world to know," he says, and Sam rolls his eyes. "He's here now, okay, so you can just deal with it."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Well come in," he says and turns, making his way back into the sitting room. "Ellen'll want to put you to work."

Dean grins, releasing Castiel from his hold, rubbing his palms together in anticipation. "C'mon Cas, let's introduce you to the rest of the gang." He follows Sam through the doorway, Castiel trailing awkwardly behind.

There is a pretty blonde woman on the couch in the sitting room, sitting beside a gruff older man with his thinning hair neatly combed and the disgruntled expression on his face that says he's been forced into it. He's wearing a white and blue sweater with reindeer frolicking across the front, a beer in his hand.  It looks like they're deep in conversation, but they look up as Sam slumps down into the couch beside the woman and Dean and Castiel follow him into the room.

The blonde grins and bounds to her feet, and Castiel discovers she's as tall as he is, legs long and shapely under slim-cut denim. Dimples show in her round cheeks as she smiles, throwing her arms around Dean.

"Jess," he says, fitting his arms around her in return. "You gonna leave Sam for the better-looking brother this year? Make my Christmas?"

Jess rolls her eyes, pulling back in his hold to throw a playful punch at Dean's arm. "Good to see you too, Dean," she says, grinning, before flicking a glance at Castiel. "Who's this?"

"I’m Castiel," he says, "I came with Dean." She smiles at him, offering a hug. He stiffens briefly under her touch but forces himself to relax into her warmth, lifting his arms to embrace her back belatedly.

"And this old coot is Bobby," Dean says, indicating the older man, who shoves himself to his feet and shakes Castiel's hand firmly. His grip is just slightly too tight, and he squints as he scrutinizes Castiel, eyes boring into his face.

"You gonna be good to our boy Dean, here?" he says, apropos of nothing, and Castiel blinks.

"I—yes?"

Bobby's eyes narrow. "Is that a question? Not sure if you're gonna be good to him?"

"All right, all right," Dean says hurriedly, insinuating himself between the two of them. "We're just friends, take it easy." He shoves at Bobby's shoulder until the man slumps back down into the couch cushions to Sam and Jess' amusement, and Dean turns to shoot Castiel an apologetic look over his shoulder. "Merry fuckin' Christmas," he mumbles under his breath, and steers Castiel by the shoulders out of the room.

"Sorry about him," Dean says once they’re safely back in the entryway. "He practically raised us after Dad died; made him a little protective."

"It's all right," Castiel assures him. "My own family is far more controlling." In fact he'd never consider bringing a stranger home, especially not a man and most certainly not on Christmas Day. Dean looks a little embarrassed, a flush rising high in his freckled cheeks, but Castiel thinks it's nice, that Bobby is so concerned about him that he would bother to interrogate his guest. His own mother would do so out of a sense of pride, not out of love.

Dean shows him to the kitchen, where Christmas music blares from a stereo in the corner and three women are hard at work. The tallest, a lovely older woman with long, brown hair is standing at the oven, checking a substantial turkey, while a younger blonde stands stretched over her and the open oven, stirring something on the stove. A third, this one with bright red hair and blunt bangs cut straight across her forehead, is sitting at the table, peeling carrots.

The redhead looks up at their entrance and yelps excitedly, dropping the half-peeled carrot on the table-top beside the peeler and bolting around the table to throw her arms around Dean. Dean chuckles and hugs her back tightly.

"What's up, nerd?"

The woman scoffs and steps back out of his arms to make a strange symbol with her hand—Castiel recognizes it as something from _Star Trek_ , though he doesn't understand its significance, having never seen the show or movies himself—parting her fingers into a V between her middle and ring fingers. "And proud," she says, grinning broadly. She looks like Christmas personified in a green sweater with snowflakes on it, the color clashing merrily with her bright-colored hair. She doesn't stop smiling when she turns to Castiel, though she does eye him speculatively. "Whoa, Dean, who’s the eye candy?”

Dean laughs at the expression on Castiel’s face. "Charlie this is Cas. Cas, Charlie." He points past a slyly beaming Charlie to first the brunette and then the blonde, both of whom have turned around at the commotion. "That's Ellen, the goddess in charge of making sure we don't waste away on Christmas day, and her daughter Jo. Harvelles, this is my friend Cas."

Friend is a bit of a stretch, but less of a lie than "boyfriend", so Castiel doesn't protest, inclining his head at both women when they wave across the kitchen at him. Dean accepts hugs from both Ellen and Jo, and then lets himself be wrangled into making the pies, a task which he grins at, rubbing his hands together excitedly and bouncing his eyebrows in Castiel's direction. Castiel huffs a laugh.

"Hey Cas?"

Castiel turns to find Charlie looking up at him, a knowing gleam in her eye at the expression on his face. He frowns and she laughs.

"Sit your ass down. You can help me with these vegetables."

He blinks, then seats himself at the table across from the redhead, taking the small knife she hands him and starting in on a bag of potatoes. He's never had to peel potatoes before but feels he'd be better off not admitting it and settles for slicing the skin off as thin as he can and depositing the newly skinned potatoes into a pot Charlie places at his elbow.

"Dean didn't tell me about you," Charlie says conversationally, her tone curious. "He usually tells me everything."

Castiel nods. "We met recently," he says, though he pointedly fails to mention how recently. "Dean graciously offered to let me join your gathering since I didn't have my own to go to."

Charlie flicks a fond smile over her shoulder where Dean is standing at the counter, purposefully elbowing Jo in the side as he rolls out pie crust from the pre-made dough and dodging the retaliatory pinches she aims at his side. "He's good like that," she says simply, and Castiel gets the feeling that perhaps he is not the first stray Dean has taken in.

"Are you a relation of theirs?"

"Nah." Charlie shakes her head. "I've been friends with Dean for a few years, and I met Jo through him. Jo's my girlfriend," she explains, flushing prettily and unable to keep her smile at bay. "This is my second Harvelle-Singer-Winchester Christmas."

Castiel falls silent, focusing on the methodical motion of his knife over the potato he's peeling. Charlie turns back to the carrots, stripping them of their skins with far less care than he's showing and the ease of practice he doesn't have. It's loud in the kitchen, the music blaring with almost obnoxious cheer from the corner and the voices of the kitchen's occupants raised over it. He lets the sounds roll over him, exchanging polite conversation with Charlie between questions about himself directed from the Harvelle women. They’re interrupted by the sudden, noisy arrival of a man with a mullet who introduces himself as Ash, passing out bottles of beer from the case clenched in his left hand as he makes his way around the room before disappearing into the sitting room.

At some point Jo appears at Charlie's side with a forkful of something that Charlie eats right off the fork, her eyes rolling up in ecstasy at the taste. “Holy frak,” she mumbles around the mouthful. “How the hell do you do it, Dean?”

"Hey! You stealin' my apples, Harvelle?" Dean calls over his shoulder.

"Of course not," the blonde yells back, slipping a second apple into her own mouth and grinning slyly. Charlie smirks and Dean turns around to lash out at Jo with a towel. She squeaks and leaps back, looking absolutely mortified at the sound that came out of her mouth as Dean and Charlie both laugh. Ellen rolls her eyes from her position at the oven, the good-natured, mocking expression of a long-suffering mother etched across her face.

"Aren't you gonna give your boyfriend a taste?" Jo challenges, and Castiel looks up, his mouth going slack as a protest springs to his lips.

"Oh no, I'm not—"

"Here Cas," Dean says, interrupting him by crossing the room with a fork, his hand cupped underneath to catch any drips. He offers the fork and Castiel hesitates for a moment, looking up at him dubiously. Dean waits patiently, and then slowly, he winks.

Castiel snorts and opens his mouth, letting Dean feed him the apple. It's sweet with the caramel and cinnamon it's been marinating in, flavors exploding across his tongue. He makes an indecent sound and his eyes shutter closed as he chews, savoring the rich, sweet taste. When he opens them Dean is watching him hungrily, eyes dark, and he reaches out to wipe a bit of caramel from Castiel's lip, sucking his thumb into his own mouth to suck it clean.

"Ew, get a room," Jo complains and Charlie giggles, fitting an arm around the blonde's waist.

"Aww Jo, leave them alone."

"All of you, get back to work," Ellen barks from her place at the counter. "You think this Christmas dinner's gonna make itself?"

Dean winks at Castiel again and saunters back over to the counter where his pie crusts are rolled out and ready to be assembled, and Castiel lets himself watch as Dean makes his way back over. His legs are slightly bowed, the muscles of his back standing out as he works, and Castiel shifts imperceptibly in his chair as he watches.

Charlie clears her throat and Castiel looks back down at her guiltily but she just grins. "'Just friends' huh?" she says knowingly, and when he frowns across the table at her she just smiles wider, returning to her carrots.

* * *

Christmas dinner is a noisy affair, music still filtering out of the kitchen—though thankfully a few decibels lower in volume—and the nine of them arranged around a table slightly too small to support such a large group and the accompanying feast. Their gathering is a riot of color in their tacky sweaters, though Sam takes off his Santa hat for dinner, combing his hair back behind his ears. He takes Jess' hand as they wait patiently for Bobby to carve the turkey.

Castiel finds himself seated between Charlie and Dean, and soon heaping plates of delicious smelling food are being passed around the table. The group falls silent for the first few bites, and Castiel has to stifle his groan of appreciation, settling for allowing his eyes to flutter closed in pleasure. The food is excellent, the flavors richer and sweeter and altogether tastier than those the family cook has made for him year after year, and he makes a point of praising Ellen’s cooking as soon as he’s had a chance to try a mouthful of everything. He feels Dean’s foot bump against his under the table and when he turns to look, Dean is smiling.

The chatter resumes, little pockets of conversation taking over the room as they talk over each other. It's chaotic, bickering and teasing and shouting filling the room but it's the best kind of chaos, warm and loving and fun and nothing at all like how his family dinners have been. It's distracting and noisy and a little bit overwhelming but it's also so very wonderful.

He eats far too much, beaten only by Dean and somehow Jo, who puts away an impressive amount given how small she is. Afterwards Sam and Jess push themselves to their feet and gather up the plates, taking them to the kitchen to start washing up. Castiel follows, thinking to help but Jess stops him in the doorway, turning him around bodily and pushing him gently back out towards the living room.

"Go sit with your boyfriend," she says, "Sam and I have this under control."

"I'm not—" he starts automatically and she just gives him another gentle push, smiling indulgently.

“Sure you’re not.”

Castiel lets her usher him out of the kitchen but pauses in the foyer on his way to the living room, digging his phone out of his pocket to check his messages. He has a few missed calls and a couple texts—the calls from his mother and Michael and the texts from Hael. He ignores the voicemails and the missed calls but scrolls through the texts.

_Castiel where are you?_

_Dad is pissed_

_I'm sorry about yesterday_

_just tell me you're okay_

He opens up a new message, typing out a quick reply. _I'm fine; I’m sorry I didn't tell you. I'm spending Christmas with a friend._

The reply comes immediately; Hael's phone is never far from her person. _oo he hot?_

Castiel snorts down at his phone, fighting a smile. _Goodbye, Hael. Merry Christmas. I'll talk to you tomorrow._

He makes his way into the living room, where the rest of the group is slumped out across the couches, Jo leaning up against Charlie's chest, her legs stretched out across two cushions with her mother on the third. Ash is seated backwards on the bench in front of the old but immaculately clean piano and Bobby has claimed the armchair which leaves the smaller couch, where Dean is already sitting, his arms spread out over the back and legs extended out in front of him. He grins when he spots Castiel in the doorway and pats the empty seat next to him, pressing imperceptibly into Castiel's side when he sinks down into it.

"How you doin' Cas?" His voice is low, his breath tickling across Castiel's neck and the bolt of his jaw. He turns to face Dean, biting the inside of his lip to keep from surging in to kiss him, his pillowy lips so close.

"I'm well, thank you, Dean. This is very nice."

"Better than sitting home alone or hangin' out with your family?"

Castiel nods and wedges his hand down between their thighs, letting the back of his index finger brush against Dean's leg. "Much," he admits. "I like your family."

Dean grins. "Yeah, they're all right."

Sam comes in with eggnog, passing a short glass to each of them. "Let me know if it needs more kick," he says, and Dean takes a sip of his immediately before reeling back from the fumes.

"I think I'm good," he says, his voice strained, and Sam chuckles.

Jess takes the space on the other side of Dean and Sam settles on the floor in front of her, leaning back against her legs. Castiel drinks his eggnog and listens in to the conversations weaving around him, content to sit next to Dean with the warm weight of Dean's arm hovering just inches from his shoulders against the back of the couch. He winds up finishing Dean's eggnog too when Dean swaps his half-full glass with Castiel's empty one.

He finds himself immersed in conversation with Sam and Jess, both of whom are home for the holidays but will fly back home to Stanford, where they both attend school, in the new year. Sam is fascinated when he hears that Castiel is an English teacher at the local high school, quizzing him about the classes he teaches and his degrees. Castiel worries for a while that Dean might feel left out, but when he chances a glance, Dean is watching him, listening hungrily as he describes his job and Castiel remembers that they still have much to learn about each other, and he finds himself hoping that they will have a chance to do so.

It's a shock too, to be surrounded by a room full of people that are not only accepting of his occupation but interested in it. They seem to have no trouble with the implication that he and Dean are together, and Castiel wonders wistfully if this is what it's like to have a family who accepts you for who you are.

Dean gets up to help Ellen bake and serve the pies and Charlie fills his spot, and she chatters easily with him, her conversation requiring little to fill in the blanks. Finally Dean comes back and Charlie slips away to sit with Jo again so that Dean can sink back into the couch, passing Castiel his own plate heaping with apple pie and ice cream before tucking into his own.

The first bite is a surprise, the pastry flaky on his tongue and the filling sweet and thick and warm, a contrast to the coolness of the ice cream. He chokes back his sound of appreciation but Dean doesn't miss it, turning to ask around his own mouthful, "'S good?"

Castiel nods fervently. "Very. You're an excellent baker."

Dean flushes. "Nah, it's nothing. I just follow my mom's old recipe."

"It's delicious," he insists, taking another bite in demonstration, and Dean fights a grin, shrugging and turning back to his own pie, and Castiel wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

After the pie is finished—both Castiel and Dean having managed a second helping—they find themselves alone in the kitchen, cleaning up the dessert dishes. Castiel washes, his borrowed sweater shoved up over his elbows to keep it out of the water, and Dean dries, since he knows where everything goes. They don't speak much but they stand closer than is probably appropriate for two friends, and there's a heat simmering between them that flares up every time their elbows brush, the contact sparking across Castiel’s skin.

Finally Castiel finishes with the last plate, passing it to Dean and reaching through the soapy water to remove the plug and empty the sink. As he's fumbling for the stopper, Dean sets the plate aside in the drying rack, flinging the tea-towel he's using to dry the dishes with over his shoulder, and catches Castiel with one hand on his shoulder and the other on the curve of his jaw. Castiel stills, turning at the gentle pressure of Dean's hand, and Dean leans in to kiss him, pressing in close until their chests brush, tongue sweeping in to claim his mouth. Castiel makes a muffled, hungry sound and presses into the kiss, wishing his hands were dry so he could clutch at Dean in return.

A squeak from the kitchen doorway interrupts them and they jump apart, a flush creeping up Dean's neck as he spins to look behind them. Charlie and Jo are both in the doorway, Jo muffling helpless giggles into Charlie's shoulder and Charlie beaming triumphantly.

"I knew it," Charlie says. "'Friends' my ass."

Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for the plate. "You need something?"

Charlie crosses to the fridge and comes out brandishing the eggnog while Jo snatches the rum off the counter. "Just running a little low on alcohol," Jo says. "Please don't stop on our account." She smirks over her shoulder as she follows Charlie back out into the entryway.

"Sorry," Dean says, turning back towards Castiel to skim his nose over the bolt of his jaw. "Can't get a moment's peace in this house."

Castiel shakes his head. "It's nothing," he says, turning in towards Dean and fitting their lips together again for another kiss.

"Come back with me," Dean says, mouth moving against Castiel's lips, his voice low and hungry, sending a curl of heat through Castiel's belly. "Come back to my place one more time."

Castiel swallows hard against the hope fluttering in his chest, the pointless wish that it won't be just once more. "Yes," he says instead, and kisses Dean again.

The party winds down quickly after that and Dean and Castiel excuse themselves. Their companions follow them to the door to say goodbye and he receives handshakes from Sam, Bobby, Jo and Ash, and hugs from Ellen, Charlie and Jess.

"Come back soon, y'hear?" Ellen says into his ear, and Castiel nods dumbly, unsure what exactly to say in response.

Her words linger with him all the way back to Dean's apartment,and he wonders again how he wound up here, spending Christmas with a man he hardly knows and his entire family. It seems impossible that he and Dean had met only yesterday, barely more than 24 hours before. He feels like he's known him for much longer, even though he still has much to learn about him.

"Thank you for inviting me today," Castiel says, breaking the silence in the car. He pulls his gaze away from the snowy street slipping past the window, lit by streetlamps and colorful Christmas lights, to look at Dean, his profile just visible in the light from outside.

Dean flicks a glance across the bench seat, a small smile ticking up the corner of his lips. "No sweat, Cas. I'm glad you had a good time."

Castiel nods. "I did. Your family is very different from mine. Accepting."

"Yeah, well it wasn't always that way. My dad—" he stops himself, gloved fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "Let's just say he wasn't as cool with the whole me liking guys thing. He did his best, but." Dean shrugs, smiling sadly "Maybe it woulda been easier if my mom was still around but she's been gone a long time."

"I understand," Castiel replies and he finds himself reaching for Dean's shoulder, offering what reassurance and comfort he can. Dean doesn't look at him but he reaches up with his right hand, squeezing Castiel's fingers before dragging their joined hands down off his shoulder, keeping them linked on the seat between them.

"This is the strangest one-night stand I've ever had," Castiel says suddenly and Dean laughs, the sound warming Castiel from the inside.

"I don't think we can call it that now, man, you already met the family."

Castiel inclines his head, conceding the fact. "I like you very much, Dean." He realizes after he’s said it just how strange of a thing it is to say, but it’s true nonetheless, and he hopes Dean isn’t too uncomfortable with it.

Dean swallows, and he doesn't say anything but his fingers tighten convulsively around Castiel's.

By the time they reach Dean's apartment, both of them are yawning, and it's a slow climb up the steps to the third floor. Dean hangs their coats over the backs of the dining room chairs and leads Castiel to his bedroom where they strip down slowly, kissing lazily as each piece of clothing gets tossed aside. He's half-hard by the time he crawls into bed after Dean, but his limbs are sleepy and heavy, his eyes drifting closed as they gravitate towards each other in the dark.

Dean chuckles, his voice low as he nuzzles into Castiel's hair. "Sleep, Cas," he slurs through the fog of sleep tugging them both down. “We can fuck in the morning."

Castiel huffs a laugh, reaching out sleepily to pull Dean in tight to his chest. "Goodnight Dean."

"'Night Cas."

* * *

Castiel wakes with his erection nestled in the cleft of Dean's ass through their boxers, Dean's back pulled up snug against his chest. His arm is curled around Dean's hip, his lips pressed to Dean's hair, and he squeezes, dropping a kiss to the back of Dean's neck.

"Fucking finally," Dean says and he rocks his hips back against Castiel's cock, drawing a gasp from Castiel's lips. "I thought you were never gonna wake up."

Castiel mouths at the back of Dean's neck, slipping his hand around the spur of Dean's hip to slide it up his side and across his chest, tugging him in tighter. "You could have woken me," he says, his voice coming out husky with sleep.

Dean tilts his head, giving Castiel access to the line of his neck, an invitation which Castiel takes gladly, kissing and licking down the taut line of muscle. "Didn't want to disturb you," he said. "Seems like you were having a pretty good dream." He rubs his ass back against Castiel's erection in demonstration, gasping as the head of Castiel’s cock slides against Dean’s crack.

"Whatever it was, this is better," Castiel promises.

"Shut up and get naked," Dean growls, shoving at his own boxers and Castiel chuckles and does as he's told. Dean reaches back for Castiel's erection and fits it between his legs, rocking back to accept Castiel's thrusts.

"Dean," Castiel breathes, his arms tightening around Dean's chest as he fucks the hot space behind Dean's balls.

"Cas," Dean replies breathlessly, reaching awkwardly behind himself to grasp at the back of Castiel's neck. He turns his head, craning backwards, and Castiel kisses him, heedless of their morning breath. Dean nips hungrily at his lips and Castiel smooths a hand down Dean's stomach to where he's hard and leaking, smoothing pre-come down Dean’s shaft as he sets up a steady rhythm with his hand, a counterpoint to the thrust of his hips.

They move together in slow, lazy thrusts, their bodies lined up together beneath the sheets from Castiel's mouth against the curve of Dean's neck to his ankles tangled with Dean's. They’re too relaxed and sleepy to do much more than rock against each other but it’s good like this, a steady, languorous climb towards climax. Castiel tastes as much of Dean as he can reach, licking and kissing and nipping from Dean's ear to his neck, down to his shoulder, where he sucks a dark, possessive bruise, reveling in the way Dean gasps his name and thrusts into his fist when he bites down. Castiel rocks his hips slowly, relishing the tight press of Dean's thighs on either side of his dick, the heat of Dean's body where the head bumps against Dean’s balls.

When Dean comes, he chokes out Cas' name, his hips stuttering through his climax, his hand tightening in Castiel's hair. Castiel kisses him along his neck as he comes down, working him through the aftershocks until Dean catches his hand in his own and lifts it to his mouth, licking his own come from Castiel's fingers.

"Jesus, Dean," Castiel chokes out, his arousal spiking as Dean sucks his fingers down, slipping his tongue between them. He presses his face to Dean's hair, and Dean chuckles low and sinful in the back of his throat and rocks his hips back, encouraging Castiel to move again.

"C'mon Cas, your turn," he says, his voice low and he fucks back harder, urging him faster. It's not long before Castiel seizes up, gasping against Dean's shoulder as he comes in that hot space between Dean's legs, thrusting a few more times into his own slick as he works through the last throes of his orgasm.

When he finally stills, Dean worms himself around under the covers until they're chest to chest, fisting his hands in Castiel's hair and kissing him hard, his tongue sweeping in hungrily. Castiel kisses back and curls his arms as tight as he can around Dean, pulling him in as close as can be, reveling in his heat and the solid press of his body.

They linger like that as long as they can until the come drying between them starts to get uncomfortable, and then Dean drags him out to the bathroom for a long, hot shower. They stand under the spray long after they've both gotten clean, the hot water easing their muscles until they drape over each other, loose and relaxed.

Dean makes him breakfast again, this time waffles in a fancy waffle-maker he pulls out from a cupboard beside the stove. They both delay as long as possible, talking about nothing over their empty breakfast plates, but then it's time for Castiel to go and they can't deny it any longer. His car has been sitting in the Roadhouse parking lot for two nights, and he needs to go home to his own apartment and call his sister and go back to his life.

He sits silently at Dean's side as Dean drives him back to the bar, wondering if this is the end. The past few days had been wonderful and unexpected but he doesn't allow himself the delusion of believing it was anything more than it was. Dean had distracted him and kept him from being alone during the holiday, and they'd had fantastic sex, but he tells himself not to expect anything more.

Dean pulls up beside Castiel's sedan and gets out to help him dust it off, brushing away two inches of snow that had fallen in the past three days. He's thankful when it starts with only a slight protest, and he and Dean retreat back to the warm interior of the Impala while they wait for Castiel's car to warm up.

"So you got a few more days off, huh?" Dean says. "Until school's back in?"

Castiel nods. "I'll go back in the New Year, though I'll be doing some prep-work at home over the next several days." He pauses, and swallows hard. "Dean, I want to thank you. These past few days have been wonderful and you saved me from a great deal of misery."

Dean waves off his thanks, a flush coloring the tips of his ears. "Glad we could save your Christmas, Cas. Hey, I'm like your Cindy-Lou Who!" He smirks for a moment, then grimaces, realization flashing across his face. "Actually that's a little freaky considering all the times we messed around."

Castiel huffs a laugh and an awkward silence falls between them. He swallows, recognizing his cue, and shifts in his seat, preparing to make his exit, when Dean interrupts him by digging in his pocket and producing his phone.

"So listen," he says, turning the device in his hand, a nervous movement. "I had fun too, and I wouldn't say no to a repeat performance if you're up to it. We could even go out somewhere, somewhere that doesn't involve my entire family or the bar where I work."

"Dean," Castiel asks, grinning, "are you asking me out on a date?"

Dean rolls his eyes, shoving the phone at Castiel. "Shut up and give me your phone number, asshole."

Castiel takes the phone, passing his own to Dean so he can input his number as well. He shoves his phone back into his pocket, smiling at the pleased flush under Dean's freckles.

"I had better go," he says, and inches across the bench seat closer to Dean's side. He curls a hand around Dean's neck and tugs him in for a kiss, his eyes sliding closed as he breathes in the scent of leather from Dean’s jacket, smoothing his tongue over Dean's full bottom lip before pulling back reluctantly.

"Bye Cas," Dean calls back as Castiel slips out of the car, ducking back in to smile at him.

"Goodbye Dean."

Dean waits until Castiel is inside his own car, now pleasantly warm. Castiel waves awkwardly through the window at Dean, who laughs and flicks his fingers back before putting the Impala in reverse and rumbling out of the parking lot.

Castiel smiles the whole way home, and he finds he doesn't even mind the insipid Christmas music that is still playing on the radio, even humming along as he makes his way back to his apartment. When he gets there, he sheds his coat, hanging it in the closet and starts a pot of coffee, setting up for a long day of prepping for the classes he will be teaching when school starts back up. He settles down at the table, schedule laid out in front of him and his laptop open, a cup of steaming coffee at his elbow, and he's just started plans for his first class of the semester when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Frowning, he pulls it out, expecting to find a message from Hael demanding to know where he is and what he's doing. Instead, he finds a message from Dean that makes him smile, warmth and promise flooding his chest.

_So Cas. What r u doing new years?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed this little fluff fest! Happy holidays to each and every one of you and all the best in 2015 <3


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